


Just Another Wednesday

by hannasus



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Coitus Interruptus, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation Sex, Season/Series 05, Sex in the Lair, Sexual Frustration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-29 02:25:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8471956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannasus/pseuds/hannasus
Summary: Oliver and Felicity's amorous reconciliation in the Arrow bunker is prematurely interrupted by the new recruits. "This is precisely why I didn't want a team," Oliver grumbles.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Some people requested a sequel to the prompt fic with Felicity’s days of the week underwear (previously posted in [my ficlet collection](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4233780/chapters/19262902)), so here it is, combined with the original ficlet into one story.

“You know,” Felicity says as Oliver hikes her up higher on his hips. “If I’d known this was how today was going to go, I’d have worn better underwear.”

_Well, shit,_ he thinks. He was planning to kiss her up against this wall for a while longer before venturing under her skirt, but now he’s not going to be able to wait to find out what she’s hiding under there.

Spinning around fast enough to make her squeal, Oliver carries her over to the conference table and plops her down with a thump. Felicity throws her head back, laughing, and the sound of it loosens something deep in his chest. It’s been far too long since he’s heard her laugh like that—unreserved and spontaneous and carefree. It’s been too long since he’s been _able_ to make her laugh like that.

She helpfully lifts her hips for him as he pushes her skirt up around her waist. When he gets to the promised land he grins, pausing to appreciate the sight. “I love your days of the week underwear,” he says, running his fingers over the word _Wednesday_ splashed across her pubic bone. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed them.”

She huffs in feigned indignation, her pink lips forming a pout. “You’ve missed my underwear? Really? _That’s_ what you’ve missed?”  

He locks eyes with her, one hand trailing up the inside of her thigh, and the other tracing the edge of her underwear. “I never said that’s all I’ve missed.”

He’s missed _everything_. Every inch of her, every second of every day. He’s missed her so much there were times he felt like he would suffocate from it. And now, by the grace of some miracle he’s afraid to examine too closely, she’s inviting him to touch her again, and he’s like a kid in a candy store, awed by the abundance of riches.

Oliver slides his hand under the elastic band and f _uck,_ she’s so wet already, like she’s been aching for him as much as he’s been aching for her. Felicity shudders and tips her head back even farther, exposing her throat to him as she grinds against his hand.

“Oh my god,” she sighs as he slips a finger inside her. “I’ve missed _this_.”

“This?” he says, adding a second finger. “Or this?” he asks as he drags his thumb across her clit.

She answers with an incoherent moan, and he lunges forward to bury his face in her neck. Her pulse flutters beneath his lips as he sucks hungrily at the delicate skin, not caring if he leaves a mark.

Her hands find his face, tilting his head up to hers. “I missed _you_ ,” she says, cheeks flushed, gazing at him with eyes that are dark with desire. It’s almost too much to bear, how much he loves her, how he never stood a chance without her.

“Felicity—” he starts, blinking hard, but she cuts him off with a kiss.

“Oliver,” she mumbles into his mouth, arching against him. “I’m going to need you to fuck me now. Like, right—” Her hands find their way to his belt buckle, tugging him closer. “—now.”

He has no idea what he did to deserve her, but he doesn’t need to be asked twice. His hands curl around her hips, yanking her to the edge of the table as she raises her legs for him, and he slides her underwear off, dropping them to the floor at his feet.

She has his belt undone by then, and she’s fumbling with the button of his pants, but it’s taking too long, so he helps her out. As soon as he’s got the zipper down she slips her hand into his underwear. The edges of his vision white out as she wraps her fingers around him, and he hears himself stutter her name.

He never thought he’d have this again, and he reaches up to touch her face, his fingertips caressing her cheekbone reverently as he brushes away a loose tendril of hair.

Felicity freezes suddenly, every muscle in her body tensing—including the hand wrapped around his dick. “Can you hear that?”

“What?” he says, but then he hears it, too. The sound of the elevator grinding into motion.

“Crap, it’s the team!” She pushes him off of her and hops down from the table.

“What are they doing here?” Oliver mutters, frantically fastening his pants.

She smooths down her skirt and then reaches up to fix her disheveled ponytail. “We _told_ them to meet us here, remember?”

No, he doesn’t remember. How can he be expected to remember something like that when Felicity’s hand was in his pants only moments ago?

“This is precisely why I didn’t want a team,” he grumbles, trying futilely to adjust his erection so it’s less painful—and less noticeable.

“Not it’s not.” She grabs his face and wipes the lipstick off his mouth. “You didn’t want a team because you don’t like change.”

“I’m firing them,” he says, wincing as she scrubs at his face. “Ow.”

She rolls her eyes. “No, you’re not.”

The elevator dings, and they jump apart. Just as the doors start to slide open, Oliver spots Felicity’s “Wednesday” underwear lying on the floor. Lightning quick, he scoops them up and shoves them deep in his pocket.

“Hi!” Felicity says cheerfully, stepping forward to greet the newbies as they emerge from the elevator.

“You’re all fired,” Oliver announces. “You can go home.”

“What the hell?” Rene says, stopping short.

Felicity turns around and punches Oliver in the arm. “He’s just kidding,” she says with a false, bright laugh. “You know what a kidder Oliver is.”

Curtis furrows his brow in bemusement. “Um …”

“I’m not kidding,” Oliver insists.

“Yes,” Felicity says, glaring daggers at him, “he is.”

“If y’all are busy, we could go,” Curtis offers helpfully, cementing his place as Oliver’s favorite of the new recruits.

“We’re not busy,” Felicity says. “I mean, _we’re_ not busy,” she clarifies, gesturing between her and Oliver. “We’re _all_ busy, because we have to do that thing tonight. All of us. Together.”

“What thing?” Oliver says, frowning at her. Whatever it is, he’s definitely canceling it.

“You know, that thing? With the shipment? The thing that’s time-sensitive and can’t be put off.”

Right. _Fuck._ One of their sources tipped them off that Church is planning to hijack a shipment of federal military equipment earmarked for the SCPD that’s coming in tonight. It’s actually kind of important.

“Fine,” he sighs. “Everyone suit up.”

“So we’re not fired?” Rory asks uncertainly.

“Of course you’re not fired,” Felicity assures him.

“Yet,” Oliver adds under his breath.

“You sure?” Evelyn asks, lifting an eyebrow. “Maybe you wanna argue about it for a while longer?”

“We’re sure,” Felicity says and shoos them toward their gear. “Now go. Suit up. We have work to do.”  

They go, muttering amongst themselves and casting wary looks behind them.

Oliver starts to trudge after them, but Felicity grabs him by the arm. “Not you.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, lifting an eyebrow as he turns back to her.

She holds her hand out. “I believe you have something that belongs to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her, poker-faced.

“My underwear,” she hisses. “Give it back.”

“No.”

“ _No?_ ”

“I’m keeping it as a downpayment. Until we finish conducting the very important business we started earlier.”

Her eyes widen. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Sorry, gotta go,” he says, winking at her as he backs away. “I have to do that thing, remember?”

“Oliver!” she calls after him. “I’m going to get you back for this!”

God, he hopes so.

* * *

Felicity squirms in her chair, crossing and uncrossing her legs for what has to be the millionth time in the last hour.

She really does _not_ like going commando. Not when she’s supposed to be working, anyway. It just feels … wrong. And distracting. Very, _very_ distracting.

Damn Oliver and his underwear thievery. He needs to get back here, pronto, so she can get them back from him. And also for other reasons that are best not thought about while she is trying to work and also  _not wearing underwear._

Tapping her fingernails on the desk, she scans the grid of traffic cameras and satellite images she’s monitoring, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The shipment is only two miles from reaching its destination, and there’s still no sign of Church’s men. Maybe their intel was wrong?

“Artemis?” she says into the comm. “Anything yet?”

Evelyn’s stationed outside the depot that houses the SCPD’s armory, keeping an eye out for suspicious activity, while the others are escorting the federal supply truck through town: Oliver on his bike in front the shipment; Rene in a car scouting the route a half mile ahead; Curtis and Rory in the van, following a discreet distance behind.

“Negative,” Evelyn answers. “All quiet here.”

“Wild Dog?”

“Not a damn thing,” Rene says. “I’m starting to think this whole operation is a bust.”

“We’re not there yet,” Felicity warns. “Everyone keep your eyes peeled.”

“Heads up,” Oliver says abruptly. “We’ve got trouble ahead.”

Felicity peers at her monitors, but there’s nothing visible in any of her views. Of course Church’s men would pick a spot where there aren’t any traffic cameras for the ambush. And of course it just happens to be beyond the range of all her keyhole satellites, too. Dammit.

“Coming around,” Rene says, and Felicity sees him pull a u-ey and speed back towards Oliver.

“Get ready,” Oliver says, just as they all move out of range of her cameras, leaving her blind.

She winces as the sound of an explosion fuzzes out her earpiece.

“That’s one,” Oliver says. “Two more coming in fast.”

Things get messy fast after that. Felicity listens to the sounds of the fight, trying to picture what’s happening, but there’s a lot of cross-talk and noise, and everyone’s too busy to narrate what’s happening in a way that she can follow.

In the middle of barking an order, Oliver suddenly breaks off, swearing under his breath. The next thing Felicity hears is a blood-curdling squeal of metal and his cry of pain, which cuts off abruptly when his comm goes dead.

“Arrow’s down!” Curtis shouts, and Felicity’s heart stops beating.

_No no no no noooo._ She just got him back, she can’t lose him.

“Can anyone get to him?” she asks frantically.

“Trying,” Rory grits out in between bursts of gunfire.

“Don’t you dare let him die,” Felicity says. “That’s an order.”

As she listens to the sounds of the fight raging on, trying to make sense of what’s happening, she chews on her lower lip, biting down hard enough to fill her mouth with the coppery taste of blood.

Every excruciating second that passes feels like an hour. Until finally: “I’ve got him,” Curtis says.

Felicity exhales, uncurling her fists from her armrests. “Is he okay?”

“I’m fine,” she hears Oliver say through Curtis’ earpiece, groaning a little.

_Oh thank god._

“Is he really fine?” she asks Curtis. “Or is he just saying that to make me feel better?” The thing about Oliver is that he could be dying of a sucking chest wound and he’d still try to insist he was fine.

“He’s a little banged up, but he seems okay,” Curtis assures her.

“Cops finally showed,” Rene announces. “They’ve got the shipment secured.”

“Come home,” Felicity says. “Right now.”

Thirty minutes later, she hears the door open and jumps up from her seat to meet them. Oliver’s walking on his own two feet, but his movements are too slow and too careful, like they are when he’s in pain and trying not to show it. The big idiot.

She stops in front of him, hands on her hips. “You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he tells her. “Really.”

She wants to throw her arms around him and hug him tight, but she doesn’t know what kind of injuries he’s hiding, so she settles for running her hand down his arm to reassure herself that he’s really here.  “How bad?”

He smiles and catches her hand in his, squeezing gently. “I’m a little bruised, that’s all.”

“We’re fine, too,” Rene says behind her. “Thanks for asking.”

Felicity’s eyes stay locked on Oliver’s. “You can all go home now. Thanks for everything. Bye.”

“We kinda need to change?” Evelyn says.

“Yeah, why don’t we all go do that?” Curtis says, herding the others toward the locker room. “Now’s probably a great time to make ourselves scarce. Last one ready to go pays for Big Belly Burger.”

He gives Felicity a nod and a thumbs up on his way out, and she throws him a grateful smile. God bless Curtis.

“Are you really okay?” she asks Oliver when the rest of the team have disappeared into the back.

He bends down and kisses her. “I’m really okay.” He smells like smoke and hot metal, but he tastes like safety and comfort. Like Oliver.

She reaches for him, but as soon as her hands touch his ribcage he hisses in pain. “Yeah, you definitely seem fine,” she says, drawing back with a disapproving glare.

“I’ve had worse.”

“That’s not a good thing!”

“Okay, do you want to yell at me or do you want to help me to the med table?” he asks, pouting a little.

“Why can’t I do both?” Felicity grumbles as she fits herself under his arm. He leans some of his weight on her and lets her guide him over to the med station, and now that he’s not being all macho and trying to pretend he’s invincible, he’s noticeably favoring his right leg. “You hurt your bad knee again, didn’t you?”

“A little,” he admits through gritted teeth as he hops up on the table.

She unzips the front of his suit for him and helps him out of his jacket. “You’re probably going to have to go back the orthopedist.”

“I know,” he sighs.

Felicity lifts up his undershirt and draws in a sharp breath when she sees the bruise blossoming across his ribcage. _Shit._

“It’s looks worse than it is,” he says, wincing as she helps him maneuver the shirt over his head.

Big fat liar. Based on the way he’s moving, some of those ribs are definitely cracked.

“Really?” she snaps. “Because it looks pretty bad, Oliver.” She yanks open a drawer, grabs an ice pack for his knee, and shoves it at him.

“I thought you weren’t going to yell at me,” he says as she twists the cap off a bottle of oxycodone.

“No, I definitely remember saying that I _was_ going to yell at you.” She deposits two pills in his palm, expecting to get an argument from him, but he pops them in his mouth and swallows them dry, which says a lot about how much pain he’s in.

“You really need to work on your bedside manner,” he says, making a face at the bitter taste.

“Well, you really need to try harder not to get yourself killed. Especially when we have very important business we’re supposed to finish. Or did you forget about that?”

It’s a petty thing to be upset about when he could have been killed tonight, but the problem with being in love with Oliver is that he could be killed almost any night. Eventually you have to stop dwelling on it or you’ll lose your mind. And she was _really_ looking forward to picking up where they left off earlier. She kind of had her heart set on it, in fact. Its been so long since they’ve had sex that she can’t even stand to think about it, and now that he’s injured it’s probably going to be even longer. It’s just not _fair_.

He grabs her by the wrist and tugs her between his legs. “I promise you I did _not_ forget.” His voice comes out low and growly, and the hand that’s not holding her wrist roams up the back of her thigh and under the hem of her skirt.

“Stop it,” she says, smiling despite herself as she captures his fingers to halt their uphill advance. “I need to get you patched up.”

He leans forward to press an openmouthed kiss against her neck. “ _I_ need to get under your skirt again.”

She sighs and gently pushes him way. “You’re in no shape to get under my skirt tonight, buddy.”

He arches a seductive eyebrow. “Bet I can still get you off.”

“We’ll see,” she says, feeling a rush of heat between her legs. “ _Later._ First, I need to tape your ribs.”

He lets go of her, shoulders slumping a little. “Fine. But I’m going to win that bet later.”

Felicity gets out four strips of KT tape—as much of this stuff as they go through every week, she should buy stock in the company—and turns back to Oliver. “Lift up your arm.” The poor guy only makes it about halfway up before hissing in pain. “Good enough. Hold it there.”

It’s kind of sad how good she’s gotten at this. Patching Oliver back together after he’s done his level best to break himself apart. It’s practically become old hat at this point.

“Ow!” he yelps as she fastens the first piece of tape along his injured rib.

“Hold still, you big baby.”

He does, grinding his teeth together as she works. She tries to be gentle, but there’s no way to keep this from hurting him, so the best she can do is get it over with quickly. By the time she’s through, he’s gray-faced with pain, his knuckles white from clutching the edge of the table.

“There,” she says gently, helping him lower his arm. “You did good.”

The smile he offers her is weary and sad, so she leans forward and kisses him. “My big brave hero.”

He wraps an arm around her and pulls her in for another kiss, humming against her lips as he slides his tongue into her mouth.

She lets herself melt into the kiss for a minute before pulling away. “I’ll go get your clothes so we can get you out of here,” she says, gathering up his Arrow jacket.

“Hang on.” Oliver grabs his jacket out of her hand and unzips one of the inner breast pockets. He digs around inside until he comes out with a wad of purple fabric.

Her _underwear._

Felicity’s mouth falls open and then snaps shut again. “You took it with you? In the suit?” It’s somehow both totally hot and totally embarrassing at the same time.

Smirking, he twirls it on the end of of his index finger. “It was my good luck charm.”

Her eyes fall to his bruised ribs, and she remembers his cry of pain and the scary period after when she didn’t know if he was alive or dead. “Some good it did.”

“Hey.” He drops her underwear and reaches for her, his hand curling around the back of her neck. “I’m still here. I’m okay.”

She nods, blinking against the burning in her eyes. “I thought I was going to lose you before I even really had you back.”

He pulls her close and presses a kiss into her hair. “Not a chance.”

“We’re leaving,” Curtis calls out loudly from the back. “Don’t mind us, we’re all just heading straight out the door without stopping or looking at anything you might be doing over there. Carry on as you were.”

Felicity lets her head fall against Oliver’s chest, shoulders shaking with laughter as the door slams closed behind them. “I think they might have sussed us out.”

“You think?” Oliver deadpans.

She lifts her head and reaches up to ruffle his hair. After months of holding herself back, it’s nice to be able to touch him again whenever she wants. “I guess it was bound to come out at some point.”

His expression turns serious. “Are you okay with that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He hesitates, his face clouded with uncertainty. “We haven’t really had a chance to talk about what happened yet … or what it means.”

He’s right, of course, but she’s not ready to have that conversation right now. They can’t really talk about it without also talking about where they went wrong in the first place, and god only knows where that will lead or what kind of feelings it will dredge up. She’s just not up to it tonight, and she can’t imagine he is, either.

“Technically, we haven’t had a chance for anything to actually happen,” she points out, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiles ruefully. “True.”

She leans into him again, being careful of injured ribs, and rests her cheek against his chest. “I’m tired and you’re injured, Oliver. Can we save the talking for tomorrow maybe?” All she cares about right now is that she has him back, and she’s not letting him go. Ever, ever again.

His arms wind around her, and she feels him nod. “Yeah. Of course.”

“Good.” She lifts her head and kisses him. “Let’s get you home now.”

Uncertainty flashes across his face again and she presses her palm against his cheek to soothe it away. “Not that dire hotel you’ve been living out of,” she clarifies. “ _Our_ home. The loft. I want you to come home with me so I can take care of you. Okay?”

His eyes close, and he nods, blowing out a long breath. “That would be—I’d really like that.”

* * *

The loft smells exactly the way he remembered it. Like _home._

Oliver lets the familiar scent wash over him, filling in the hole that’s been residing in his heart for the last seven months.

“Oliver?” Felicity says, tugging gently on his arm.

He looks down at her. “Hmm?”

“You okay?”

He nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “Yeah. Yeah I am.”

Her eyes go soft, and she steps into him for a hug. _Ow._ Ignoring the pain, he wraps her up in his arms. It’s worth any amount of pain to have her close again.

“I love you,” she mumbles into his chest.

If he could hold her tighter, he would. Stupid broken ribs. His throat’s burning too much to form words, so he settles for pressing his face into her hair. She’ll know what he means.

“Okay,” she says, stepping back and letting go of him. “Let’s get you upstairs and out of those clothes.”

He breaks into a grin. “Now you’re talking.”

She laughs. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“God, I hope so.”

“Yeah, you talk a big game, but let’s see you get up those stairs.”

Oliver looks at the stairs and then down at his bad knee. He’s fantasized for months about throwing Felicity over his shoulder and carrying her up those stairs to their bedroom, but that’s clearly off the table tonight. He’ll have to save that move for another time when it won’t send them both careening to their deaths.

With grim determination, he limps over to the base of the stairs, grasps the railing, and hops up to the next step on his good leg. 

_Ow. Fuck._  

It’s doable, though. He slides his hand up the rail and hops up one more step. Two down, twenty-two more to go. Awesome.

“Oh, for god’s sakes,” Felicity sighs, moving to his side. “It’s too pitiful to watch. Let me help.”

Gratefully, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and accepts her assistance up the stairs. It’s slow, painful going, and by the time they get to the top he’s breathing hard enough that he has to rest for a second before they make the rest of the journey down the hall to the bedroom.

Felicity guides him onto the bed, and he collapses—very carefully—onto his back, basking in the familiar softness. God, it feels amazing to be in this bed again—and not just because he’s exhausted and in pain. The whole bed smells like Felicity, and it makes him want to roll around on it like a dog in a pile of freshly-raked leaves. Better yet, he wants Felicity to get on the bed and roll around with him.

“C’mere,” he says, holding out his hand to her.

She moves closer and then hesitates, chewing on her bottom lip. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.”

She still looks reluctant, so he grabs her hand and tugs her down onto the bed with him. She’s careful not to put any weight on his injured ribs as she leans over him, for which he is supremely grateful. When she’s close enough, he hooks a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss. 

It feels incredible—it’s the 1812 Overture and the Hallelujah Chorus all rolled into one—until she starts to melt into him, and accidentally presses against his ribcage.

His sharp intake of breath makes her instantly jerk back. “Oh god, I’m sorry!”

“It’s fine,” he says, trying to pull her back down so he can keep kissing her.

To his intense frustration, she sits back on her heels, too far away to kiss. “Maybe we should take a raincheck.”

He is not taking any goddamn rainchecks, he has waited too long already, so he shifts into his growly Arrow voice: “Felicity, get back down here and kiss me.”

It works just as well as he knew it would. She loves it when he uses that voice on her in bed, she always has. Eyes sparking with desire, she leans over him again, but this time she holds herself well above him as she kisses him.

“See?” he says, nipping at her lower lip, his hands roaming all over her body. “It’s fine. It’s wonderful. It’s perfect.”

“Mmm,” she hums. “Yeah, it is.”

Her mouth slides down his neck, and he closes his eyes, sinking into the sensation as she presses open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone. The painkillers have taken some of the edge off, but they’ve also left him feeling slightly fuzzy, in an almost dreamlike state.

“Can you sit up so I can get your shirt off?” she asks after a minute.

Hell yes, he can. She helps him up and manages to work his T-shirt over his head with only a moderate amount of discomfort. And then she eases him back down onto the mattress, and starts to kiss her way across his chest.

Oliver tangles his hands in her hair and sighs with contentment. Her fingers dance across his skin, feather-light and gentle, as her mouth leaves a wet trail down his abdomen. And then she’s unbuttoning his pants and working them off his hips and down his legs, along with his boxer briefs, and _oh thank god,_ this is really happening, finally.

Tenderness wells up in the back of his throat as she stands at the foot of the bed, gazing at him in undisguised hunger.

“Take off your dress,” he commands, low and rough.

Mischief curves her lips, and she turns her back on him, reaching up to grasp the zipper between her shoulder blades. Slowly, teasingly, she lowers it, exposing more beautiful, tantalizing flesh with every excruciating inch. When it’s finally all the way down, she slides the dress off her shoulders, one at a time, and then down her arms. Throwing a sultry look over her shoulder at him to make sure he’s properly appreciating the view, she wriggles her hips and lets her dress fall to the floor.

She never did put her underwear back on, and the perfection of her ass is exposed to him in all its lush, round glory.

“Now your bra,” he says, swallowing.

He watches, transfixed, as she reaches behind her back and unfastens the clasp. She turns around to face him, smiles, and lets her bra fall to the floor, baring her breasts to him. _Fuck,_ they’re so beautiful. _She’s_ so beautiful. He wants to devour her whole. Speaking of which …

“Get up here and sit on my face.”

Her eyes widen for a moment before her smile turns saucy. “If you insist.”

Oh, yeah, he insists.

His muscles quiver with anticipation as she crawls up the bed toward him. She leans over to deposit her glasses on the the nightstand and then throws her leg over him, exposing her gorgeous cunt as she  straddles his face. His mouth waters as her heavenly musk fills his senses, and he grasps her hips, greedily pulling her down to his mouth.

Bliss bubbles up inside him as he closes his lips around her, lapping up the heady, familiar taste. Felicity shudders above him, moaning as he licks a path from her opening to her clit and then sucks the sensitive nub between his teeth. He glories in every sound he draws from her, every movement she makes, every shaking breath she draws as he pleasures her.

When he slips a finger inside her, she throws her head back and squirms against his face, whimpering. His hand tightens on her hip, holding her firmly in place while his finger curls inside her, and he strokes her with the flat of his tongue until she comes with a loud cry, stuttering his name.

“Oh my god,” she sighs, slumping forward to brace herself on the headboard. “You are so good at that.”

Nice to know he hasn’t lost his touch. Oliver licks his lips, feeling pretty proud of himself. “Told you I was going to win that bet.” 

Once she’s recovered the use of her limbs, Felicity clambers off of him. Her juices are all over his face, and she leans over and kisses him messily, licking all around his mouth. Jesus, he loves it when she does that. If his ribs and his knee weren’t killing him he’d roll her over and fuck her senseless.

His fingers slide into her hair, and when he finds the elastic holding her ponytail, he eases it out to let her hair cascade around his face. She bites down on his lower lip, hard, and then slides down the bed and positions herself between his legs.

“Your turn,” she says, making his cock twitch in anticipation. Gazing at him with dark, lusty eyes, she takes him in her hand.

He arches beneath her, which turns out to be a huge mistake, and he gasps as pain slices through his ribcage.

“Careful,” she says with a disapproving eyebrow. “No moving.”

Easier said than done, when she’s holding his cock and licking her lips like that. Just the sight of it is almost enough to make him come.

His fists clench in the comforter with the effort of holding himself still as she tips her head down and runs her tongue over his slit. Her hair spills over his legs and stomach as her lips close around his shaft, and he groans in ecstasy when her hand strokes up and down his length. By the time her head starts to bob up and down, he’s a whimpering mess.  

Oh, god, it’s incredible, but he’s going to come if she keeps it up, and he’s not ready for that to happen yet. He wants this to last longer. He wants more of her.

“Fe—Feli—city,” he stutters.

She hums in response, and _holy fucking shit,_ it almost undoes him.  

His hands curl in her hair, tugging her head back. “Stop.”

She pulls off of him with a _pop_ and looks up with half-lidded eyes, her lips swollen and wet.

“I want to come inside you.” He wants her tight, hot walls around him. He wants her to ride his cock until she comes. He wants to feel her orgasm pulsating around his dick. He wants, he wants, he wants … he wants _her_ , so desperately he can’t think straight.

Her bright red nails curl into his thigh as she frowns. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

He is not above begging, and he does. “ _Please._ ”

For a split second, he’s genuinely afraid she’s going to say no. But then she crawls up onto the bed and straddles his hips. Thank god.

Every muscle in his body tenses as she takes him in her hand again. “You’ll stop me if I’m hurting you?”

He nods mutely, sucking in a ragged breath.

“Promise me.”

“I promise,” he grits out.

Satisfied at last, she guides him to her entrance and slowly sinks down on him. He groans in grateful relief, tipping his head back into the pillows as her slick heat envelops him.

Her breath catches as she takes him all the way in, and then she settles her weight on his thighs and stills, watching him with worried eyes. “How’s your knee?”

“My knee’s fine,” he assures her. Now if only she would start _moving_.

“I’m not putting any bad pressure on it?”

_Oh, for the love of_ —if she keeps this up he may actually die of sexual frustration.

“Felicity, you’re killing me. My knee’s fine, please just fuck me.” He manages to waggle his hips a little without hurting himself.

She lifts an eyebrow and grinds down on him.

Oh, Jesus, yes. Just like that.

His hands splay over her ass, enjoying the feeling of being buried inside her and the sight of her writhing in his lap. He tenses his abs and circles his hips the way he knows she likes—

_Shit, fuck, ow._ Big mistake.

She stops and frowns down at him. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

He goes back to begging. “Felicity, please don’t make me wait for this. I don’t care how much it hurts, I need you. Now. Tonight.”

“ _I_ care how much it hurts you.”

“I’ll be more careful,” he promises.

“You have to let me do all the work.”

He nods eagerly. “Sounds fantastic. Let’s do it.”

She tilts her head at him. “You say that, but giving up control has not historically been one of your strong suits.”

“Wow, okay.” He pinches her waist, relishing the way it makes her squirm. “Is there any any other constructive criticism you’d like to give me right now, while you’re riding my dick?”

Her smile turns into a grin. “No, I think that’s all for now.”

He waggles his eyebrows like a silent movie lothario. “I’ve turned over a new leaf. Let me show you.”

It earns him a laugh. Even better, she starts to rock her hips experimentally. When he gasps—from pleasure rather than pain this time—she freezes immediately.

“No, don’t stop,” he pleads. “That was amazing.”

She starts moving again, and he reaches one hand up to palm her breast. Her eyes flutter closed when he drags his thumb across her nipple, and when he kneads the soft flesh, she throws her head back, moaning.

“That’s right,” he says. “Let me hear you.”

God, she’s majestic. In the soft lamplight, her skin glows as golden and silky as her hair, which falls in soft waves around her shoulders. He runs his hands over the perfect curve of her hips and her thighs, marveling at this gift he’s been given.

How did he survive all those months without her? How did he ever go on living without this connection? It doesn’t even seem possible now.

He hopes to god he never has to do it again.

Felicity’s movements start to speed up, her fingernails digging crescent-shaped marks into his skin as she braces herself on his shoulders, and he holds onto her hips, urging her back and forth to increase the pressure right where she needs it.

Her moans get louder, and she grabs the headboard and leans over him, twisting and arching her back so her breast fits perfectly into his mouth. Oliver makes the most of it, tracing her nipple with his tongue before sucking it between his teeth. Her cry of pleasure vibrates through his entire body.

She’s getting close, he can tell.

“Come on, baby, come for me. I want to feel you.”

His fingers dig into her ass, urging her to go even faster, and her cries reach a crescendo. He feels her walls contract, and then her orgasm is pulsating around him, and _goddamn,_ it’s the most beautiful feeling in the world. He has a moment to feel grateful before his own release rolls over him like wave, gentle at first and then slowly building in intensity until all his senses fuzz into white noise.

When he finally comes back from it, Felicity is gazing down at him with a soft, watery expression that makes his heart clench. 

He reaches for her face with both hands, and pulls her in for a kiss. “I love you,” he murmurs against her lips. 

“I missed you,” she whispers. “So much.”

His hand smooths over the back of her neck. “You don’t have to miss me anymore. I’m right here.”

She nods, kisses him one more time, and then climbs off of him.

“Come here,” he says roughly, missing her warmth as soon as its gone. “I need to hold you.”

She snuggles up against his uninjured side and drapes her arm across his stomach. “Comfortable?”

“Perfect.” He strokes her hair, breathing in the comforting, familiar scent of her. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs contentedly and presses her face into his neck.

Oliver relaxes into the soft mattress and pulls her closer, so he can feel her breathing against his chest. 

He doesn’t remember nodding off, but sometime in the night he wakes from a deep and dreamless sleep to a dark room. Felicity is on her side next to him with her head cradled on his arm and her ass pressed against his hip, and there’s a blanket covering both of them.

Gingerly, wincing at the pain in his ribs, Oliver turns onto his side and curls himself around her, nuzzling into her hair. She moans quietly in her sleep and shifts closer, pressing her back into his stomach.

Everything’s okay again.

The world has been set back on its proper axis.

He closes his eyes and, for the first time in months, remembers what happiness feels like.


End file.
